


Abduction or Rescue

by jaskiersvalley (connorssock)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Injury, M/M, Magical hearing aids, Miscommunication, hard of hearing character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29924844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/jaskiersvalley
Summary: Geralt is roped into retrieving a man from Nilfgaard's army for Jaskier. All he knows is this man is someone important and has a medallion which is magical. Thinking it's an enemy, Geralt doesn't have much patience for his new captive on their trek to Jaskier and Eskel. If only he'd listened more and realised he was helping an ally escape with valuable information for Redanian Intelligence.
Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Eskel, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	Abduction or Rescue

The instructions had been quite clear as far as Geralt was concerned. Jaskier needed some idiot from Nilfgaard but he couldn’t be seen near the army. So, somehow, he had managed to sweet talk Geralt into fetching his next victim. Because anyone who Jaskier had to abduct was definitely a victim. Only Geralt was the willing fool to listen to his chatter and singing all day. It grew on him and, on days Jaskier wasn’t around, he actually missed the noise. But that was beside the point. Geralt had a job to do and he was going to do it to the best of his abilities.

In a way it was rather anticlimactic. Geralt got lucky, he marched through a battlefield where the bodies were still warm. Nilfgaard had won but the cost had been significant on both sides and now the injured were being tended to. All Geralt knew was that his target was the leader of the army and wore a medallion of Nilfgaard’s sun. The amount Jaskier stressed the medallion, Geralt had a sneaking suspicion that the man was irrelevant and it was just the medallion that was of interest but, probably through magic, the man was needed too.

Not wanting to waste time, Geralt left Roach at the edge of the makeshift camp and marched towards the medical tent with his sword drawn.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, I’m just here for one person,” he announced and looked over the people flitting between beds and those on them, trying to figure out just who he was there to collect. “I’m here for your leader, the one with the medallion.”

Most didn’t move, not willing to risk the ire of a Witcher but also reluctant to sell out one of their own. However, the younger ones and those who were injured but not incapacitated all glanced towards one of the beds. It was in the corner, a blanket fashioned out of a sack was clutched in one bloodied hand. All Geralt could see was a mop of light hair, greasy and lank. Delightful. Not that anyone could come off a battlefield looking freshly bathed and smelling of flowers but Geralt really didn’t fancy a captive that stank to the point it burned his nose. Jaskier was going to owe him for this. Marching up to the bed, Geralt ripped the blanket off the resting man. The quicker they got this over and done with, the better. He watched as the man flinched, blearily staring up at him.

“Do be careful Master Witcher,” one of the medics tried to intervene. Geralt silenced him with a glare.

It was laughably easy to drag the man up and gruffly half drag half march him out of the tent, holding him upright by the back of his sweat soaked linen shirt. Geralt made quick work of tying up his wrists and attaching the other end of the rope to Roach’s saddle. The man did struggle weakly but it was obvious he wasn’t in any shape to resist. Especially the way he squinted in the sunlight, and tried to rub his eyes and temple so frequently.

“Wait!” The medic rushed towards them, something clutched in his hand. “You’ll need this.”

The medallion in his hand made Geralt’s hum. So it was magical. He didn’t need his captive getting brave or giving in to stupid ideas. Geralt snatched the medallion and pocketed it before it could make any kind of contact with his target.

“He won’t need it,” he said and swung up onto the saddle. “Let’s go.”

Roach started walking slowly and their captive followed on stumbling feet. He probably took a hit to the head during the fight, nothing was better for that than walking it off, Geralt reasoned. The only eerie thing was how silent the man was. Not a groan, not a whine, nothing. It was slow going and Geralt so desperately wanted to nudge Roach into something faster. In the end he did, reasoning that if Jaskier could keep up then surely a general of the Nilgaardian army wouldn’t have any issues either - battle worn or not.

Every now and then the rope went taut as the man struggled to keep up. Ignoring it, Geralt kept his eyes forward even as he listened for the heavy breaths of someone struggling. He heard the squeak of a pebble twisting underfoot and the rope went tight. The thump of knees hitting the ground had Geralt turning to look unimpressed. In the dust, the man knelt, head dipped and chest heaving. It really was a pitiful look but Geralt wasn’t willing to fall for any kind of trickery. So he gave Roach a nudge, urging her to take one more step so the man would be forced to get on his feet. It didn’t happen. Instead, as his arms got pulled, he ended up face fist in the dust with a sharp exhale. But still no noise. It must have been some kind of Nilfgaardian thing. Watching the man struggled to get back onto his knees made even Geralt feel bad. He hopped off Roach, grabbed a waterskin and approached the man hesitantly. It was far too easy to pull him upright and shove the waterskin into shaking hands. Geralt was even gracious enough to uncap it. Weirdly, the man wasn’t taking the offered drink immediately, his fingers worked through odd shapes. Maybe the rope around his wrists was tight and causing numbness but, when Geralt checked, it wasn’t anywhere near that kind of tightness.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.”

The man had no choice but to take the waterskin and drink, eyes closing in relief. Once done, Geralt helped haul him upright, grumbling under his breath. Even when a murmur of “hopeless, helpless human” slipped out, his captive didn’t react. All Geralt could think of was that Nilfgaard seemed to really train their operatives well.

They got two paces before the man’s knees gave out again. Not willing to stop, Geralt rolled his eyes and pulled the man up again. This time though, he marched him to Roach’s side and hefted him up onto the saddle much to the pained grimace of the other. Still, they had to get moving, at their current pace they would be a day later than agreed. Roach was not best pleased about the extra weight but Geralt wasn’t going to let his captive sit on his horse while he walked. Though he trusted Roach not to run off even if given a nudge, it just wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. However, when the man started squirming, Geralt almost shoved him off out of annoyance. Before such an inelegant fate could become the man he leaned to the side and promptly threw up. Geralt’s first thought was that at least it wasn’t on Roach because then he would have been pissed. That gratefulness didn’t last long because the man slumped back after wasting all the water Geralt had given him. The sudden weight against Geralt’s chest was unwelcome and he was so busy scowling, he almost missed the way the man went lax and listed, starting to slip off Roach in an unconscious, limp tangle of limbs. Only instinct had Geralt wrapping an arm around him and turning into the fall, cushioning his landing.

They couldn’t exactly keep going like that so Geralt hefted his unconscious burden over his shoulder and walked off the path to find a convenient place to set up camp. Finding a good spot, Geralt lowered the man down. In the light and with more attention on his captive, he could see a bruise forming along his temple and jaw where someone no doubt got a good whack in. No wonder he was struggling to walk and throwing up. Geralt tried to have a bit of sympathy for him, even if he was on the wrong side of the battleline.

For camp they were going to need wood, a rabbit or two for dinner and Roach needed a bit of attention too. It was quite easy to tie the rope holding man’s hands to a nearby tree and leave him. Roach was good at alerting Geralt to any opportunistic thieves and the like so he walked off to get the supplies for their camp. By the time he got back, the man was conscious and had managed to squirm so his back was pressed against the tree and he was sat up.

“Good to see you up,” Geralt said gruffly. The man’s eyes flickered over the clearing before visibly jumping when he spotted Geralt. “You’re a silent fucker, aren’t you? At least you could tell me your name.”

No response. The man looked away from Geralt and that was message received loud and clear. While the rabbits cooked, Geralt watched his captive from the other side of the fire. He was wilting, head dropping forward before snapping up again, eyes scanning the area before his eyes grew heavy again.

“Just go to sleep. I won’t murder you in your sleep. And I’ll even wake you when food is ready.”

Not that the man listened, he carried on his quite appalling little display of paranoia. If that’s what he wanted, Geralt wasn’t going to stop him. The rabbit he put down next to him was picked at and the man tried to flex his fingers all funny again but Geralt ignored it.

“Eat. Then sleep. We’ll be on the road again tomorrow.”

As the fire died down in the night, Geralt watched the man as he resisted the urge to sleep. It would have been funny if not for how pitiful it was. Eventually he succumbed to an uneasy sleep, sat up against the tree, back wedge in for probably protection because it was certainly not for comfort.

Come morning, Geralt nudged the man awake with a foot. “We’re going again. Come on.”

There wasn’t much to pack up from the camp and Geralt tried not to make it obvious he was watching his captive as he struggled to get up. No doubt his muscles were protesting now, the ache of the battle plus a night of sleeping in an awkward angle was unlikely to do him any favours. All Geralt could say was that he tried but the man was stubbornly silent. Trying to get him on top of Roach was met with a shake of the head, Geralt’s kindness thrown back in his face with pain lined face. So he did the only other thing possible. Tied the rope to Roach’s saddled and nudged her into the slowest possible walk. His captive followed even though his breaths were coming short and sharp, laboured all too soon.

From the opposite direction two horses were approaching, ones Geralt would recognise anywhere. Scorpion and Pegasus meant Eskel and Jaskier had lost their patience and were coming to make sure he was okay.

“Well met,” he called as they approached.

“Geralt,” Jaskier greeted warmly before his eyes widened. “Oh Melitele, what have you done to Cahir?! Cahir!”

He was off his horse and rushing to the captive, talking a mile a minute as he undid the ropes. Eskel gave Geralt a long look before approaching behind Jaskier to meet this Cahir. Watching, Geralt noticed how, as soon as the ropes were off Cahir’s wrists, his hands were flying through the air, making odd shapes and gestures. Ones that Jaskier seemed to be following and gesturing back.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, hands still moving. “Where the fuck is the medallion I told you was so important?”

Pulling it from his pocket, Geralt let it swing in the air. It was snatched and Jaskier was hanging it around Cahir’s neck without hesitation.

“Thank you.” The words were whisper soft and Cahir swayed a little. “Just, keep your voice down please? Everything hurts.”

For possibly the first time Geralt had ever seen, Jaskier nodded and only murmured softly back. “We can take it off if you need. If it’s too much, I can help translate.”

“What’s going on?” Eskel asked and Geralt saw Cahir flinch at the sound.

The shushing from Jaskier had Eskel look sheepish and muttering a quiet apology.

“What’s going on-” Jaskier said, “-is that Geralt is an idiot, treating Cahir like a prisoner. When I told him we needed him.”

Grumbling, Geralt tried to figure out what part of “we need him and the medallion” meant that Cahir was a friend. However, he could see the intrigue Eskel was doing his best to mask. Chances were, the other two didn’t realise but Geralt had known him for so long, nothing was a secret between them.

“What’s the medallion for?” It was genuine curiosity as well as something more as Eskel hovered, just shy of being close enough to Cahir to touch.

Only mildly uncomfortable, Cahir glanced away. “I lost my hearing early on in the army. A hit to the back of my head. The medallion is enchanted to fix that.”

“But you can’t speak without it?”

“The magic needed a sacrifice. In order to hear, the medallion needed something in exchange. With it, I can hear and speak. Without, both are gone.”

Which was why he’d been waving his hands around. Geralt had seen that before and now realised that the odd finger movements were probably Cahir trying to talk to him. Guilt washed over him. Especially when he thought about how terrifying the night probably had been for Cahir, unable to hear, in dubious company and probably too hurt to actually be able to defend himself. No wonder he struggled to sleep.

“Why don’t you ride with me?” Eskel offered with a warm smile. “Leave the other two to catch up. And I can see Jaskier wanting to berate Geralt for being an ass. Again.”

It took a bit of manoeuvring, Cahir biting his lower lip to hold in gasps of pain. In the end, Geralt helped lift him up and Eskel took over, pulling him into his lap side saddle. Not the most comfortable but probably the safest for everyone.

“If things are too loud, take of your medallion, I don’t mind.”

After two minutes of the horses’ hooves clopping along the road, Cahir did reach to pull the medallion off with a silent “sorry” shaping his lips. Eskel merely hummed and he noticed the way Cahir’s hand was pressed against his chest, feeling the vibrations. On a whim, Eskel pulled the hand up and settled it against his throat.

“You’ll feel more there.” He shot Cahir a soft smile before starting to talk. “We’ll get to the base of the mountain in a few days. You’ll hopefully be in better shape by then. Kaer Morhen is a bitch to get to.” The hand slipped from his throat and Cahir signed something. “Hey Jask, can you help?”

Turning, Jaskier watched as Eskel prodded Cahir into signing the thing again, fascinated by the blush on high cheeks.

A giggle burst from Jaskier. “He says your voice feels nice.”

Not hesitating, Eskel took Cahir’s hand and put it back against his throat.

“You can tell him he signs nice.” Dutifully Jaskier gestured and Cahir huffed a breath of a laugh. Eskel continued, a little bashful, “And, if you wouldn’t mind, while he sleeps, could you teach me a few signs?”

It took a lot of effort for Geralt to not declare that he’d called it. Instead, he took his punishment from Jaskier in the form of silence with all the grace he could. It also gave him a prime view of Eskel riding with one arm securely around Cahir, the other holding onto Scorpion while his full attention was on Jaskier. They covered the basics, greetings, manners, names. Even a few more useful ones around food and drink. However, there was blatantly something Eskel was wanting to ask. Geralt almost grinned when it finally tumbled out, Eskel all shy.

As promised, the climb to Kaer Morhen was indeed a bitch, even though it wasn’t quite winter yet. However, an early return was needed for their humans. There was no denying that Cahir had very firmly been adopted by Eskel who fussed and tried to sign as he spoke, wrapping his fingers around the signs while his words stumbled. Despite the lack of practice and knowledge, Cahir seemed delighted to teach him and correct his hands as they spoke. With each passing day Cahir looked a little better, less wrung out even though the bruise along his jaw, cheek and temple turned into a livid purple.

They were in the kitchen, Vesemir having delegated cooking to the others for the week, claiming he had enough of cooking and the others could take a turn. The stew they ended up making was passable though nothing exceptional. Sitting around the table, Eskel caught Cahir’s eyes and raised his hands. While Geralt had been learning the more frequently used signs, the ones Eskel used were somewhat new. There was no missing Jaskier’s happy sigh, the one he gave when he saw someone give flowers to a loved one or a wedding party that they passed in a village.

“What?” Geralt asked him, hating how he was left out.

“Eskel’s asked if Cahir would like to go look at the stars with him this evening.”

Judging by the way Cahir’s chin dipped down to hide the shiest of smiles, it was a yes.

“That would be nice.” The words were soft, hesitant and Geralt had almost forgotten that Cahir actually was wearing his medallion under his shirt. It seemed natural for Cahir to be more silent than a Witcher most days which was an impressive feat. Caught up in these thoughts, Geralt almost missed Cahir talking with his hands again.

“What did he say?” Geralt asked at the same time as Eskel snorted out his drink while Jaskier cackled.

The glare from Cahir was not enough to silence Jaskier who hooted. “He asked if he should bring some slick.”

Finally getting some control back over himself, Eskel levelled Cahir with a look. “Yes. I didn’t want to presume. But fuck yes please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find more stories on tumblr @jaskiersvalley


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